Part 12: Okay, sorry to add to the madness but OP would give her right arm to see Francis Bonnefoy, French revolutionary, being wrongly accused of being an atristo supporter. Chaos ensues and M. Bonnefoy finds himself in England falling in love with, of all people, Matthew Williams, the son of a very rich aristocrat.
twelve pomegranate seeds (8)
anonymous
September 10 2010, 07:54:07 UTC
He regrets it later, only slightly, though, when he's desperately itching at his skin and his skin is red and peeling.
a little further inland there's some fresh water that will help, Francis says sympathetically. He pats Matthieu on the back, and Mattieu cringes.
Je suis désolé, mon chéri.
Does this mean you've tell me extra today, since I'm hurt?
No, no France replies, faintly amused. I can only tell you a little each night. But tomorrow, we will get you some butter for your injury
Mmmmn, Matthieu replies.
Chéri, do you want to know about me or yourself?
It is a hard choice. He wonders about himself, but he craves more of Francis like he craves air.
Tell me about....yourself.
Oho? I shall tell enough for a book at this rate.
I'd read it... Matthieu says, looking up.
Francis smiles. So you would.
Hmmmm...For the first twenty-two years of my life I was a charming rogue with a handsome smile who flitted from gathering to gathering. I was quite popular, not surprising, given that crowd. I was utterly reprehensible, but
( ... )
twelve pomegranate seeds (9)
anonymous
September 10 2010, 08:12:41 UTC
Matthieu wakes to the scent of mussels cooking over the fire. He rubs at his eyes and searches for his lunettes. Francis pulls the out of a pocket and hands them to Matthieu. The world comes into focus as Mattheu puts them on, murmuring a thanks. Francis smiles at him. His hair is tied back as he moves the mussels over the flame. they are impaled with a stick, with a stack of shells beside him.
Good morning, beau, Francis says. Perhaps there will be fish later, none were biting.
It smells good, Matthieu says.
The sky is still pink, and the sand is moist with dew. The air is chilly, and gooseflesh spreads over him. Matthieu rubs at his arms. His belly growls, and he rubs that too, trying to soothe it. He's gone many a long time with little food. Just because Francis has spoiled him thus far doesn't mean he's forgotten already what it means to be hungry.
twelve pomegranate seeds (11)
anonymous
September 17 2010, 14:29:13 UTC
Francis brushes aside this bit of embarrassment as if it were nothing. That is one thing about Francis, even in the worse faux pas', even in a scandal, Matthieu thinks he would simply laugh it off.
You too, didn't have exactly fatherly feelings towards me. You took to the joke of betrothal, and every time I'd leave you'd wave your little finger at me and say 'don't forget me, Papa Bonnefoy. Wait for me and come back and marry me when I'm old enough'. You got so jealous whenever I'd charm ladies at gatherings. It was quite adorable. You had me all picked out for yourself and were just waiting to grow up and claim me.
And then you found me, Matthieu says.
And then I found you, Francis repeats. He takes Mathieu's hand in his and kisses it, tender and sweet. When he looks at Matthieu, all he sees is love, and not the love of a father
( ... )
twelve pomegranate seeds (12)
anonymous
September 17 2010, 14:44:20 UTC
In the morning before they leave, Matthieu holds to Francis' arm - for Francis confessed last night between kisses that he always sleeps in the nude and was only clothed for Matthieu's sake - that there was one question left.
Francis, why was I taken? Why did we have to be apart for so long?
That is a mystery I've never quite been able to uncover, mon coeur. Your mother broke a lot of hearts and your father, despite being a gentle man, was a gambler at heart. They must have made powerful enemies. After many years of searching, it was mere chance I spied you off the dance floor, Francis says.
Perhaps he will never know. But Matthieu accepts this mystery, with an end which is happy, if not entirely resolved. He readies himself for breakfast, dresses and washes himself. Francis draws a line across Matthieu's throat with his finger, in a light, promising manner.
Mon amour, if we had any more time... Francis stares at him in a way that is hungry. Matthieu has never known the feeling of being desired before. No one in the castle ever
( ... )
twelve pomegranate seeds (13)
anonymous
September 17 2010, 14:49:20 UTC
*
Salty sea wind stings at his cheeks.
Do we have to leave her behind? Matthieu says.
I'm afraid so, Francis says.
Matthieu pats her flank sadly. Can we have someone take care of her until we return? I don't want someone riding her into the ground or cutting her up for her soup.
I will tell the horse trader if she ever gets used for such things, I'll hunt him down and cut out his innards for making you cry, Francis says.
Matthieu looks at the lands around him. France is all he has even known, and even that has only been a slice of the world around him.
When the bloodshed is finished, we will find a little house and live happily. By then we will have seen a large amount of the world - or at least, safe places. I do not think I could take losing you again.
Matthieu leans back into Francis. Nor could I. he feels Francis press begin to subtly touch him. He looks up to reproach him, but Francis winks.
I have experience in such matters, Francis says. He moves just so no one can
( ... )
le loup et le lapin (2)
anonymous
September 4 2010, 09:04:56 UTC
Whenever he was in London, he stopped at Arthur's house. Arthur had distantly been a friend of the Bonnefoy family, and every time they came near each other they would fight, like sparks from two opposing pieces of flint
( ... )
le loup et le lapin (3)
anonymous
September 4 2010, 09:14:31 UTC
"Lovely playing," he said. Though to be fair, the melody was so simple, a child could have played it. The boy looked up, started, and flushed. His hands fell to the keys, a discordant note played.
"I-I'm sorry, Master Kirkland hasn't informed me that there was to be company," he said. His voice was so quiet that Francis had to strain to hear it. He heard the faintest trace of an accent. French? "I-I was not prepared...I apologize..."
"I didn't know the old bastard had a son. He's been holding out on me," Francis said.
He flushed. "Oh....no. I'm...a guest."
"I see. I'm also a guest. An old friend, if you will. Enchanté."
"Yes, pleased to meet you..." The boy murmured.
Francis slide beside him at the seat of the pianoforte. "What am I to call you? I could give you a few names of my own if you prefer. Like mon amour.The boy looked perplexed for a moment, and even sad. "You don't remember
( ... )
"See, Arthur? Matthieu thinks we should kiss and make up. You wouldn't want to disappoint him, would you?"
Matthieu paled. "I-"
"Well I think you should go to hell!" Arthur bellowed.
"Ah, just like old times," Francis said.
"Please don't fight," Matthieu pleaded, looking from one to the other.
Francis took Matthieu's hands in his, which elicited an endearing blush.
"Matthieu, mon cher, it is friendly sparring. Nothing to be worried about. We probably won't even try and kill each other this time," Francis said
( ... )
le loup et le lapin (5)
anonymous
September 4 2010, 09:56:42 UTC
Living with nobles had given him a taste for a life he couldn't afford. He was in a state of constant displeasure in the dirty, small, barely furnished dwellings that made up his class
( ... )
le loup et le lapin (6)
anonymous
September 4 2010, 10:26:24 UTC
tu es beau: you're beautiful (as said to a male.) -
*
He helped Matthieu out of his clothes, the boy apologizing all the time. Matthieu was bulkier than he would have expected, with wide, strong shoulders, and a body which seemed at odds with his sickly, frail nature.
"Tu es beau," he murmured.
Mattheiu blushed, a deep red, much like the roses he so loved.
He helped Matthieu into bed, despite protests. In his mind he was most uncertainly undressing him, but for the present, he was a gentleman.
"You seem awful prone to independence for a rich boy," he teased.
"I don't like to burden people unnecessarily," Matthieu said.
"It's no burden," Francis said. "I've called the maid for a cold compress."
"I-I'm sorry to be such trouble..."
"You're no trouble, petit. More delicate than I thought, but no burden."
"You don't have to lie to save my feelings, Mon- Mister Francis."
"And you don't have to lie about pretending to be English. Were you about to call me monsieur again? Or perhaps mon amourMatthieu flushed. "I-I
( ... )
Okay, sorry to add to the madness but OP would give her right arm to see Francis Bonnefoy, French revolutionary, being wrongly accused of being an atristo supporter. Chaos ensues and M. Bonnefoy finds himself in England falling in love with, of all people, Matthew Williams, the son of a very rich aristocrat.
Anything else is up to the author, I tried to make it as open as possible, but OP would really love to see this. And I really, really, really like happy endings. *issap*
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/15068.html?replyto=42495196
Reply
a little further inland there's some fresh water that will help, Francis says sympathetically. He pats Matthieu on the back, and Mattieu cringes.
Je suis désolé, mon chéri.
Does this mean you've tell me extra today, since I'm hurt?
No, no France replies, faintly amused. I can only tell you a little each night. But tomorrow, we will get you some butter for your injury
Mmmmn, Matthieu replies.
Chéri, do you want to know about me or yourself?
It is a hard choice. He wonders about himself, but he craves more of Francis like he craves air.
Tell me about....yourself.
Oho? I shall tell enough for a book at this rate.
I'd read it... Matthieu says, looking up.
Francis smiles. So you would.
Hmmmm...For the first twenty-two years of my life I was a charming rogue with a handsome smile who flitted from gathering to gathering. I was quite popular, not surprising, given that crowd. I was utterly reprehensible, but ( ... )
Reply
Matthieu wakes to the scent of mussels cooking over the fire. He rubs at his eyes and searches for his lunettes. Francis pulls the out of a pocket and hands them to Matthieu. The world comes into focus as Mattheu puts them on, murmuring a thanks. Francis smiles at him. His hair is tied back as he moves the mussels over the flame. they are impaled with a stick, with a stack of shells beside him.
Good morning, beau, Francis says. Perhaps there will be fish later, none were biting.
It smells good, Matthieu says.
The sky is still pink, and the sand is moist with dew. The air is chilly, and gooseflesh spreads over him. Matthieu rubs at his arms. His belly growls, and he rubs that too, trying to soothe it. He's gone many a long time with little food. Just because Francis has spoiled him thus far doesn't mean he's forgotten already what it means to be hungry.
It's almost done, Francis says ( ... )
Reply
Reply
You too, didn't have exactly fatherly feelings towards me. You took to the joke of betrothal, and every time I'd leave you'd wave your little finger at me and say 'don't forget me, Papa Bonnefoy. Wait for me and come back and marry me when I'm old enough'. You got so jealous whenever I'd charm ladies at gatherings. It was quite adorable. You had me all picked out for yourself and were just waiting to grow up and claim me.
And then you found me, Matthieu says.
And then I found you, Francis repeats. He takes Mathieu's hand in his and kisses it, tender and sweet. When he looks at Matthieu, all he sees is love, and not the love of a father ( ... )
Reply
Francis, why was I taken? Why did we have to be apart for so long?
That is a mystery I've never quite been able to uncover, mon coeur. Your mother broke a lot of hearts and your father, despite being a gentle man, was a gambler at heart. They must have made powerful enemies. After many years of searching, it was mere chance I spied you off the dance floor, Francis says.
Perhaps he will never know. But Matthieu accepts this mystery, with an end which is happy, if not entirely resolved. He readies himself for breakfast, dresses and washes himself. Francis draws a line across Matthieu's throat with his finger, in a light, promising manner.
Mon amour, if we had any more time... Francis stares at him in a way that is hungry. Matthieu has never known the feeling of being desired before. No one in the castle ever ( ... )
Reply
Salty sea wind stings at his cheeks.
Do we have to leave her behind? Matthieu says.
I'm afraid so, Francis says.
Matthieu pats her flank sadly. Can we have someone take care of her until we return? I don't want someone riding her into the ground or cutting her up for her soup.
I will tell the horse trader if she ever gets used for such things, I'll hunt him down and cut out his innards for making you cry, Francis says.
Matthieu looks at the lands around him. France is all he has even known, and even that has only been a slice of the world around him.
We'll return, won't we? Matthieu says uncertainly.
When the bloodshed is finished, we will find a little house and live happily. By then we will have seen a large amount of the world - or at least, safe places. I do not think I could take losing you again.
Matthieu leans back into Francis. Nor could I. he feels Francis press begin to subtly touch him. He looks up to reproach him, but Francis winks.
I have experience in such matters, Francis says. He moves just so no one can ( ... )
Reply
Reply
I really do love this pairing, and the way you write is very elegant; it fits~!
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
"I-I'm sorry, Master Kirkland hasn't informed me that there was to be company," he said. His voice was so quiet that Francis had to strain to hear it. He heard the faintest trace of an accent. French? "I-I was not prepared...I apologize..."
"I didn't know the old bastard had a son. He's been holding out on me," Francis said.
He flushed. "Oh....no. I'm...a guest."
"I see. I'm also a guest. An old friend, if you will. Enchanté."
"Yes, pleased to meet you..." The boy murmured.
Francis slide beside him at the seat of the pianoforte. "What am I to call you? I could give you a few names of my own if you prefer. Like mon amour.The boy looked perplexed for a moment, and even sad. "You don't remember ( ... )
Reply
"See, Arthur? Matthieu thinks we should kiss and make up. You wouldn't want to disappoint him, would you?"
Matthieu paled. "I-"
"Well I think you should go to hell!" Arthur bellowed.
"Ah, just like old times," Francis said.
"Please don't fight," Matthieu pleaded, looking from one to the other.
Francis took Matthieu's hands in his, which elicited an endearing blush.
"Matthieu, mon cher, it is friendly sparring. Nothing to be worried about. We probably won't even try and kill each other this time," Francis said ( ... )
Reply
Reply
-
*
He helped Matthieu out of his clothes, the boy apologizing all the time. Matthieu was bulkier than he would have expected, with wide, strong shoulders, and a body which seemed at odds with his sickly, frail nature.
"Tu es beau," he murmured.
Mattheiu blushed, a deep red, much like the roses he so loved.
He helped Matthieu into bed, despite protests. In his mind he was most uncertainly undressing him, but for the present, he was a gentleman.
"You seem awful prone to independence for a rich boy," he teased.
"I don't like to burden people unnecessarily," Matthieu said.
"It's no burden," Francis said. "I've called the maid for a cold compress."
"I-I'm sorry to be such trouble..."
"You're no trouble, petit. More delicate than I thought, but no burden."
"You don't have to lie to save my feelings, Mon- Mister Francis."
"And you don't have to lie about pretending to be English. Were you about to call me monsieur again? Or perhaps mon amourMatthieu flushed. "I-I ( ... )
Reply
Leave a comment